


expensive mistakes

by enbyofdionysus



Series: the Percy/Zeus mafia au you didn't ask for but got anyway [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Clubbing, First Meetings, M/M, the gang violence au no one asked for but got anyway, this is written to be a Percy/Zeus fic only and I don't plan to make it a longer thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: The Jackson brothers hadn't planned on becoming a gang. They didn't even like each other. But when your father's body shows up on the steps of the local Greek Catholic church, things tend to happen. Now Chrysaor's torturing people for answers, Triton's buying off the police, and Percy's fucking a mob boss. It was safe to say none of them expected this to happen.





	expensive mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this mob AU I had here: http://enbyofdionysos.tumblr.com/post/171175206746

The bass was loud. Heavy. Solid. Thunder. It pulled hard on Percy’s chest the second the three of them passed by the guard outside and through the thick velvet curtain.  
  
The music hit his ears like a gasp. He was momentarily blinded by flashing neon lights. Vibrations pooled up from the floor and into his feet. He could taste the cologne and sweat on the dancefloor just a few feet away.  
  
This is it, Percy thought. _This_ is a _club_.  
  
The dance floor of Bulldog Nightclub was surprisingly close-knitted, surrounded by tables and chairs. Some women were dressed in tight-fitted dresses, others in thongs. Some men were dressed in well-fitted suits, others in jockstraps.

The Jackson brothers were in the former group. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder in linen shirts, vests, and jackets sewn by handsome Italian men they wouldn’t have been able to afford to even look at two weeks ago.  
  
They were each a photocopy of their father.  
  
There was Chrysaor, their father's spitting image were his curls not cropped short and his neck and arms covered in tattoos.  
  
There was Triton, his long waves bundled tight to his head in a knot worth undoing.  
  
Then there was Percy, who looked more like their mother than the rest of them. He had a pitbull's face, soft and inviting to men and women alike. But his father's eyes, ferocious and green, always left those same people skittering away.  
  
Despite their appearance, the Jackson brothers weren't born into violence. They'd been _reborn_ from it after bathing in the blood of their father's body dumped just outside the steps of the Greek Catholic church.  
  
And so now they were here, standing in this new church of the unholy redeemer with pistols in their pockets and fire in their souls.

"We're here to watch and listen," Chrysaor hissed under the sound of the bass. He didn't hiss because he was angry, but because it was how he spoke. "Understood?"  
  
Their father's murderer, said one witness after Chrysaor had been kind enough to remove four of his teeth, had most likely been a member of one of the New York gangs.  
  
Unfortunately, there were several of those and so Chrysaor had had to renew his dental license before learning their father's killer could have been Italian.  
  
No, not just Italian. _Roman_ .  
  
Chrysaor knew of three Italian gangs in particular who were especially proud of their Roman heritage. And by the end of the night, they would hopefully be one step closer to having a name.  
  
The Jackson brothers looked at one another. And then they separated.  
  
**  
  
Percy didn't come to only watch and listen. He came to watch and listen and drink. He was on his second cocktail of what the bartender referred to as Molly's Hatchet -- a mix of coffee, Bailey's Irish cream, cinnamon, and Jameson whiskey.  
  
It burned just enough to keep Percy vigilant. His eyes never left his drink at the bar even as he caught bits of conversation here and there. Hushed whispers about drug deals, a few assaults. Nothing major.  
  
Percy was almost done with his second drink, lifting it to his lips to give a bored suck to the thin black straw, when he caught the eyes of a man on the other side of the bar.  
  
At first, Percy thought he was being watched and so he quickly swiveled his eyes away, a hot rush of blood warming his neck. But then when Percy glanced the man's way again his eyes were still fixed on him.

Fear tickled just under Percy's ears. And then he bit down it and shot a ferocious look at the stranger.  
  
The man was not deterred in the slightest. In fact, he grinned. And took a sip of his scotch.  
  
Percy realized a second too late that the man had not been watching him for some dangerous reason. Rather, the man been  
  
_looking_ __  
__  
at  
  
him.  
  
And, well.  
  
Percy very much enjoyed being _looked_ at.  
  
Percy drew his eye away from the man again, letting himself only glance over a few times to get a better look. He was handsome, that was for sure. Although Percy didn't actively hunt for the silver-fox type, he found the gray hairs dusting the man's well-trimmed beard and wax-combed hair remarkably attractive.  
  
He was dressed in a suit like Percy, but had removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves. Percy didn't even need to be next to him to know that his fingers would be thick enough to need only two to get off on.  
  
But still, Percy didn't go anywhere. If he was going to ride someone tonight, he wasn't about to waste the strength of his thighs on making the first move.  
  
Instead, he leaned across the bar the way Thalia would to flirt with the hot bartender at _Artemis_ and pretended not to notice the man's eyes. He let his tongue chase the thin black straw before grabbing it with his teeth. He ordered a third cocktail.  
  
When Percy glanced up again in the man's direction, he was startled to see that he'd disappeared. He forced himself not to look around, not to seem like the mouse in this game of two cats.  
  
He was rewarded. The man slipped into the space beside him like a cold front on a thick, humid day. The man smelled the way he looked. Rich, dark, intoxicating.  
  
Percy needed this man's cock in his mouth hours ago.  
  
"I hope this isn't rude to say," said the man. His voice was low and aching, accented by something Percy vaguely recognized as Greek from years of listening to his father's business calls. "But the moment I saw you, I had to know."  
  
Percy's eyebrows pinched together. Anticipation burned low in his gut.  "Know what?"  
  
"Did it hurt," the man asked, holding Percy's gaze as he brought his own drink to his mouth, "when you fell from Heaven?"  
  
It was such an old and terrible and overused pick-up line, Percy almost laughed. With disgust in his voice, he asked, "Are you calling me the devil?"  
  
The man's eyes had something dark in them. "Anyone with lips as sinful as yours," he said, "couldn't be anything else."  
  
And just like that, they were back in business.  
  
"Percy," Percy said, holding out his hand.  
  
The man took it, his grip firm and gentle and rough-skinned. "Jove." Jove's eyes slowly raked across Percy's form, lingering momentarily on his thighs. "You're new to this scene."  
  
Apprehension mingled with Percy's interest. "What gave me away?"  
  
Jove smiled. "You asked me my name."  
  
_Arrogant_ , Percy thought. "You think so highly of yourself that everyone should know who you are?"  
  
He shouldn't have said that. Especially not here. But Percy's mouth was notoriously impulsive whether they were around haughty teachers or violent mobsters.  
  
Fortunately, his bite only seemed to draw Jove closer. Percy felt drunk on his cologne, although it was most likely the whiskey.

He couldn't stop glancing at his shoulders.

"Not at all," Jove said, voice low so Percy had to lean in to hear. "But I'm afraid my reputation beats me to many introductions."  
  
"Lucky you," said Percy. He licked his lips. "You get a clean slate."  
  
"Lucky me," said Jove. He said it the way someone else would say "Spread your legs."  
  
Percy leaned against the bar. Jove's eyes were hooked on his collarbone. "What's your reputation?" he asked. "Club daddy?"  
  
His question earned him a genuine laugh, a guffaw of a sound rather than a deep rumble as if he'd been caught by surprise. Percy liked it. He very much wanted to hear it again.  
  
"I'm not sure you would want to speak with me if I told you," said Jove, leaning in close beside him. He reached up and touched one of Percy's curls.  
  
Ordinarily, Percy wouldn't let anyone touch his hair, but there was something filthy about the way Jove was wrapping the curl around his finger.  
  
"Don't underestimate me," Percy said, holding his eyes. "I love a dangerous man."  
  
Jove's chest rose and fell, rose and fell. "Is that so?"  
  
"That is _so_ ." Percy brought his drink to his mouth, but he didn't drink it. His tongue dragged over the tip of the straw. Jove's eyes were _fires_. "I need a bitch who can keep up, after all."  
  
Jove laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the sides in a pair of crow's feet. He was beautiful.

"Sweetheart," he said and oh, oh fuck. "There are no bitches here."  
  
"Shame," Percy said, tilting his head back just so. Jove's eyes darted to his neck. "I was hoping I'd be yours."

He showed Jove his teeth. And sipped his drink.  
  
**  
  
There was no rush, that was the hottest part of it.  
  
The few times Percy had had sex, it'd been a flurry of clothes and breaths, sweat and apologies. He could still remember the sharp pinch of Luke's hip bone against his crotch.  
  
But this was no frat party and Jove was no boy.  
  
The way Jove kissed made Percy feel as though he'd never been kissed before. It was intense and unyielding with Jove's tongue never coming too close to Percy's mouth.  
  
His beard was surprisingly soft against his cheeks when Percy had expected it to be course. He let his fingers grab along the back of Jove's hair as he ground his hips forward for some kind of friction.

Fortunately, friction wasn't hard to find. They were a two-headed creature formed at the waist and they were still pressed against the wall.  
  
The bass of the music thrummed even with a door closing out most of the sound. They were in one of the nightclub's more private of the private rooms, one that was clearly meant for orgies given the sheer size of the bed.  
  
It was dark, lit only by neon purple lights along the walls. The lack of lighting only seemed to make the feel of Jove's rough hands on his skin that much louder.  
  
Jove's mouth was on his mouth, the on his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his neck, his neck. Percy could only gasp, his legs spreading at the sensation of hands pressing down into the back of his jeans, spreading him apart, touching his rim. _Oh_.  
  
"Fuck me," Percy told the ceiling.  
  
Jove's mouth went to his collarbone. His finger dipped inside his rim, pressed up.

It was too dry and it burned. Percy begged for it anyway.

But Jove didn't answer his plea because _this_ , this was _real_ and he wasn't Luke and he wasn't drunk and this wasn't something to get over with. This would be something good.

Jove kissed him. Percy never wanted to stop. But he wanted more than Jove's mouth.

Percy pulled away and snarled this time. He said to Jove, not the ceiling, " _Fuck_ me."

Jove took a step back, his finger leaving Percy's rim, his hand leaving Percy's pants. "Get on the bed."

Percy did as he was told, throwing his clothing to the floor as he went. He stopped at the foot of the bed, fingers struggling with his belt. His hands were shaking.

"Shh," Jove said behind him as if sensing his frustration. He was behind him now, a steady and unmoving wall. Percy could feel his cock through his slacks.

His thick fingers found Percy's belt and unbuckled it easily. His lips brushed Percy's ear. "There you go, sweetheart."

Percy's breath audibly hitched. Jove's fingers stilled for a second.

And then they pulled Percy's belt from his slacks in three quick jerks that felt an awful lot like--

"Bend over," Jove whispered.

Percy bent over the bed. He felt his face warm as Jove pulled his pants down just below his ass but no further, the waistband trapped just beneath his balls.

Jove spread him. Percy felt Jove's finger slide through the delicate hairs there and just over his rim. Then again. And again.

There was the sound of a cap snapping open. Jove's finger was wetter this time as it traced him, as it pressed against it, as it pressed inside, as it took him apart.

Percy felt raw, his body flushed hot just bent over a bed with a single finger in his ass. But it wasn't just Jove's hand making him hard.

It was also Jove's rough, low voice saying the most endearing things as his hands worked filthily. It was Jove telling him how pretty his hole was, Jove telling him he knew the second he saw him that he'd look beautiful wrapped around three of his fingers.

It was Jove politely asking him to put his hands behind his back, not demanding him to.

It was Jove politely telling him not to cum as he toyed with his prostate for three, five, seven minutes.

It was Jove telling him to climb up onto the bed, Jove kissing him senselessly, Jove telling him to keep his hands at his sides while his beard and lips tickled Percy's nipples

It was Jove reaching down between Percy's thighs and easily saying as if it were nothing, "Make room for me."

And Percy did.

He spread his legs wide, then gently brought them together again around the warmth of Jove's waist. He couldn't remember when Jove had taken off his shirt and his eyes struggled between openly gazing at his chest and looking down where Jove was pressing inside him.

For the smallest of seconds, it hurt. But then Jove's hand was on his stomach, warm and firm and comforting.

He pushed past the rim of Percy's hole.

And then it was glorious.

Percy stumbled over a curse, trying not to moan. It wasn't that he was embarrassed -- Percy _loved_ to be embarrassed on a king-sized bed -- but being quiet became a habit after sharing a room with two brothers.

It was a habit Jove was going to break.

His hips rocked and it was good. His hips shoved and it was good. Sounds bubbled out of Percy's mouth before he could stop them. He didn't want to stop them.

He reached down for his cock, hand shakily cupping the head, twisting his wrist just so. He was so wet.

Jove bent for his mouth, momentarily trapping Percy's hand between their two bodies as he rocked impossibly into him. Every push was a cruel swipe against every pleasurable spot Percy could never quite reach.

And because Percy always did have a thing for overindulgence, he stammered, " _Harder_."

And because Jove Grace always did have a thing for young men who liked to fuck beyond their limits, he fucked harder.

" _Oh!_ " Percy cried, because that was all he could manage. His hands snatched at the sheets. He couldn't take it. He was making himself take it. He wanted it. He loved it. He was going to cum.

"Yeah," Percy said in a strangled voice. He pulled at his cock, desperate, desperate, desperate.

Jove bent over him again, his pace slowing with his position but his thrusts remaining rude and cruel and deep. His beard tickled the edge of Percy's ear as he hurdled toward the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart," he said. "That's it. Just a little more, huh?"

Percy felt himself flush from his chest to his face. He bit his lip, clenching the muscles in his legs. His toes curled.  
  
Jove whispered, "That's it."

And then he was cumming, his hips pressing ever closer to Jove's, ass clenching around his cock as his body seized. He was cumming, cumming, and then he was laying back flat on the bed, face toward the ceiling, smiling wide wide wide.

Jove was still fucking him, but it was only a little uncomfortable and a few minutes later Jove was laying down beside him.

Percy was still smiling, running a hand down his own side simply because it made his skin sing. "Wow."

Jove quietly laughed. He reached for Percy's hand and brought it to his lips. "Wow," he agreed.

They were quiet. For a few moments, it was as if there was no nightclub just outside the doors, that no one else had fucked on this bed but them.

Instead of purple lights, it was sunlight waving through the windows on a Greek island.

Instead of raucous noise and laughter outside the door, it was ocean waves and gulls.

All at once, Percy fell in love with this man. And so course it was then that Percy saw the wedding ring on Jove's finger.

Jove saw that he noticed because Percy's face went from open and sated to closed off and cold. He snatched his hand from Jove's lips and rolled away from the bed.

"Percy," Jove said, watching him dress with hurt eyes. "Percy, it's an open marriage."

"Open marriage as in open marriage?" Percy snapped. "Or open marriage as in you fuck boys behind your wife's back?"

He yanked up his pants, but a gentle hand on his arm stilled him.

"Open marriage," said Jove, "as in an open marriage. My wife and I love many people. We trust each other. I meant to tell you."

"Sure," Percy said, but it was difficult to be mad when Jove was sprawled naked across the bed, his arm reached out to him.

Still, even as he sat back down on the bed, Percy couldn't help but feel disappointed. The Greek island was gone and all that was left was a dingy nightclub. How was it this easy to have your heart broken by a stranger?

"You'll stay the night with me, won't you?" Jove asked, running his fingers over Percy's forearm forward and back, forward and back.

"I have to meet back with my brothers," Percy said. "I'm on the clock."

It was a dangerous thing to say. But it only made Jove smile.

"Fucking a man in the middle of a job," Jove said appreciatively. "A man after my own heart."

In spite of himself, Percy smiled back. But it was a fleeting thing; his heart ached. "Can I see you again?"

Jove laughed the way he had when Percy had asked his reputation. "You truly are a wonder," he said and the way his eyes twinkled told Percy they weren't just words.

"You really don't know who I am, do you," Jove said. He kissed Percy's knuckles again. "You're a Gratiae now. You can see me when you like."

Percy frowned at the word. "Gratiae. Like the graces from Roman Mythology?"

"I find it a better word than 'bitch,'" Jove said with a smile. "I don't fuck just anyone, Percy. And the people I do are protected."

"Protected," repeated Percy.

Jove reached up to touch one of Percy's curls again. It wasn't filthy when he did it this time though.

"Anyone who touches one hand on your pretty head without your consent," said Jove. He let go of Percy's hair. "Disappears." He made a little exploding-motion with his hand. "Poof."

Arousal beat terror in the race to Percy's nerves. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Jove said. He said it so nonchalantly. Percy crawled back onto the bed again, just a little.

"Then," he said, "do I get your number or something?"

They gave each other their number. No disposable cell phone. Just two Androids, one new and one three years old.

Percy felt giddy. A thousand scenarios went through his head, most of them involving Jove in a pair of khaki shorts while eating hot dogs together in Central Park. He had to pinch himself remember that he had a different life now, that Jove had always had a different life, and that Jove was probably born in a three-piece suit with a phone in hand.

Those facts didn't keep Percy from leaning over to kiss Jove goodbye though.

**

After the intimacy of the private room, the club felt rough and wild to Percy's ears. Each accidental bump to his shoulder felt like a shove, each bark of a laugh at a men's table felt like a shout.

Percy ordered a shot of whiskey at the bar to settle his nerves again and, after one more, he found Chrysaor in an empty booth.

"Anything?" Percy asked over the music. He felt unearthed and wild. Chrysaor's face looked strangely real in his drunken haze.

"Possibly," Chrysaor said. He was looking out onto the dancefloor, ever serious. "We'll wait for Triton and then get out of here."

Finally, his eyes slid to Percy. His eyebrows pinched. And then furrowed in disbelief or possibly disappointment. "Did you suck someone off? You look fucking debauched."

"Thanks," Percy said and he knew he was drunk because he gave his brother a finger-gun. "That's because I was."

"That's not what we're here for."

"Don't get mad at me because I managed to get on a mob boss' A-list and you didn't."

Chrysaor rolled his eyes. "You're a child. Fine. Who was it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Chrysaor shot him a look.

"Jove Grace," Percy said.

Chrysaor shot him another look, but this time it wasn't as funny. "Percy, I'm serious."

"So am I," Percy said. He didn't like Chrysaor's eyes right now. "Why, what's the issue? Was it him?"

Chrysaor shook his head.

"Then what's the problem?"

Just then Triton made it to the booth, a vodka tonic in his hand and a long strand of hair escaping from his bun. Reading their faces, he asked, "What I miss?"

"You missed Percy fucking one of the leaders of New York's Greek mafia is what you missed," Chrysaor snapped.

Percy snorted. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

"It _is_ a bad thing, Percy. Now we're going to be watched everywhere."

"At least it's the _Greeks_ ," Percy snapped. "That's who dad worked with, right? They're called, what? The Olympians? They won't rat us out for our shit. If anything, they'll help us."

Chrysaor said nothing, but Percy could tell by the pinch of his mouth that he'd made a good point.

"In any case," Chrysaor said. "We're leaving. I need to tell you guys what I heard."

They stood to go.

On their way out, Percy let his eyes give one last glance around the club. Jove, of course, spotted him first. He had his drink raised the second Percy made eye-contact with him just by the bar.

Percy gave a perfunctory nod. And then he left with his brothers. They had a name to find.

**Author's Note:**

> comments cure acne and fuel more writing


End file.
